


The shameless Band AU that nobody asked for.

by Skywolf1314



Series: Halex drabbles. [8]
Category: The light bringer series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skywolf1314/pseuds/Skywolf1314
Summary: Adding this to the list of things im doing instead of writing my actual book.
Relationships: Hawk/Alex
Series: Halex drabbles. [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1385728





	The shameless Band AU that nobody asked for.

The shameless band AU that no-one asked for.

James wasn't sure how he ended up in a sweaty bar at nine pm for the twelfth day running, but there he was, nursing a thimble of whisky. It had been a terrible day he supposed, his new 'successful' venture into being an author hadn't been as exciting as he once thought. Sure he had sold enough books to afford a small apartment in the heart of London, but the mindless hours between writing and thinking about writing were becoming monotonous.

He was out of ideas, and his publisher was beginning to nag at him. His last book had gone on sale over a year ago, and he was yet to write a follow-up. How was he supposed to? He was utterly uninterested in writing anything else to do with that story. He had finished it fair and square. It was only the demand of his greedy publisher that he had to revive it with the small added 'next-gen' title included.

He knew he should have killed his characters off before they got the chance to be consumed by his' name.'

Ugh.

It was a hopeless venture. In all his twenty-seven years he had never hated writing as much as he did currently. The whisky wasn't helping, nor was the dreary country band trying their hardest to depress everyone in the room playing in the background.

What he needed was something different, a new idea that he could perhaps spin his characters into? Maybe he could go on hiatus from his original story and focus on something different, completely different. Something like-

“You going to mope there all night?” The bartender asked him. She was a gruff-looking woman, with stern eyebrows and an almost permanent scowl.

“It’s a possibility.” James hummed, sipping his whisky. “Sebastian has been breathing down my neck all day. He wants pages to edit. I don’t have pages for him to edit. I have nothing.” He dropped his head onto the counter. It was sticky.

“Kid, you’re what twenny-five? Stop beating yourself up over a book that you clearly don’t care about anymore.” Bartender scolded. James should really ask her name.

“Twenty-seven. I don’t know how to write anything else.” He whined into the table. It smelled like stale beer and years worth of vomit. “How do you write anything else?”

“You’re the writer.” She shrugged and slid another whisky to him.

James took it solemnly and downed the remains of his previous drink; the ice had melted, causing it to be watered-down.

Maybe if he got out of the city for a bit, he could find some passion amongst the trees. His mother always used to say that a walk in the forest a day could cure all ailments. Was lack of motivation even an ailment?

He doubted it.

This was clearly Sebastian's fault.

That was it, his pushy editor that turned up at his door every day, poked through his stuff and pestered his cat. He would ask over and over if his next book was on its way or if his pages were ready. James had sweated through so many lies that he was sure the man was only humouring him by agreeing that his book was “coming along nicely”.

James had little more than two poorly written paragraphs.

“Have you read my book?” He asked, leaning back in his chair, the dreary band had finally stopped playing. As per usual, after nine the music became much more rambunctious. Often up-coming punk bands claimed the stage, making James' ears bleed, and his head throb for the night after.

He didn’t pay attention to them setting up on stage.

“No, I didn’t. I don’t read fantasy and your cover kinda sucked.”

James narrowed his eyes at the bartender. She was right, but he had to go with the design his publisher said was the best.

“Ughhhh. This is hopeless.” He rubbed his face just as the microphone screeched.

“Woahhh boy! That’s a loud-ass mic! Dawn, check it out!”

Oh, wonderful. The new band were American. That meant he was in for a night of obnoxious noise that melted his mind.

“Hey, guys! It's past nine, so that means…Stage is all mine, Baby.”

James tilted his head curiously. The voice reminded him of Sweet Home Alabama, not the song, the film. The man didn’t have much grip of his vowels; they seemed to drag in an unintentional way.

He wasn’t expecting what he saw on the stage. His ridiculous mind had made him think he’d be seeing some hick with a banjo, sat on a canoe or something. He’d envisioned corn sticking out from his lips. But what he got was, in fact, something that made him hot around the collar.

The man was blond, tanned and staring at the few people still sat around the tables. His hair was shoulder-length, hanging in loose curls around his face. His skin was like bronze. It reminded him of an Apollo statue he had come across when he had first visited Rome; chiselled and full of potential. The man’s eyes, though shaded by the dull lighting, were ablaze with excitement, the type James remembered feeling the first time he had sat down to write.

“Who's that?” He asked, pointing to the blond who was moving his body in such a scandalous way. James couldn’t help but take in the curves of his body as his thin American flag styled tank-top blew up around his ribs.

“Oh, that’s the new band I hired. Blondie up front is from somewhere in the states. Talks like he's never been educated, but he knows more than the smartest Brit. Got a good voice too, likes to flirt with everything. I'm pretty sure he likes men, but I've seen him hanging off of girls as well.” She eyed James with a twinkle. “Ahh, you like how he looks, right?”

James spluttered his growl and glared at the wirely bartender.

“I'm more curious as to why he's not wearing any shoes.”

The bartender shrugged and refiled his empty glass.

“Drink up, Kid. You never know, you might become brave enough to talk to him after the show.”

Maybe she was right, perhaps he could live a little, if only for the night.

He thought about it.

Oh gods no, he could never just shamelessly throw himself at a man because he reminded him of a statue of his favourite god.

Great that sounded weird to even think about.

“Kid. Stop living in that head of yours. Not everything is a story. This is life, go have some fun before you’re too old to want to.”

A story?

“Ahem, this is our first song, not written by us but copied and remastered. This is Desolation row.”

The man, glistening under the spotlights, grabbed a bright orange guitar. It hung low on his hips, and with one flick of his bracelet covered wrists, the song began.

James wasn’t one for rock music. He liked the classical melodies of strings and flutes and sounds that reminded him of springtime and rivers. He always found rock music to be reminiscent of a battle cry from a Norseman as they conquered the earth.

This music, however, was that of devils.

From the moment the first notes spewed into the air, James knew he was done for. It wasn’t a song about woodlands or rivers, about dying while being in love. It was about riots and rebellion and fire. Alex danced across the stage, owning It completely with the slants of his body, the radiance that bounced from him. His voice was rough and emotive, every word carved from experience and knowledge. Now, this wasn’t a boy who had been raised in a happy home. This was a body moulded from anger and oppression.

James was utterly transfixed. How could one man spin such a dull song and make it into something wild and uncontrollable?

And there it was.

It was faint—a whisper.

But it was there.

Inspiration in the form of soft lips and bright hair.

“I need some paper and a pen.” He ordered the bartender, not bothered by his blatant rudeness. “Hurry before the idea leaves my head.”

Hastily the required items were shoved into his hands, and James began to scribble down the vague startings of a plot.

“A Rebellious young man finds himself in music,” He muttered chewing the end of the pen. “But there needs to be something else…Something to give it more meat.”

“A romantic subplot involving a stary eyed writer who's looking for a muse, and finds one within the musician.” Bartender added with a wink.

James grinned wildly as the music reached its crescendo.

_“And the riot squad,_

_they're restless,_

_they need somewhere to go,_

_As lady and I look out tonight,_

_Oh!_

_DESOLATION ROW!”_

“I could totally write a romantic comedy.” James chuckled to himself at the audacity of the idea. Him, a fantasy writer, creating something so ridiculous it might actually work.”

He looked over to the man just as the last strum of the guitars hit. Alex’s hair was plastered against his face, his cheeks were pink, but his smile was so inviting.

“Lemme introduce us!” Alex started, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “I'm Alexander, Alex, to my friends and any handsome thing that walks my way.” He winked at a table of men who seemed like they wanted nothing to do with him. “As you can see, I’m frontman and rhythm guitar. On bass, we have my man Ares. We don’t know what he is, only that he is stupidly tall.”

He pointed to a man with hair that reached past his backside; it had bells and beads weaved into it. His scowl could rival the bartenders.

“On lead guitar, we have my little Rootbeer, Love of my life, my soulmate.” He wrapped his arm around the small ginger-haired man who cringed away from Alex with all his might. “His real name is Robin.” He kissed his cheek, earning himself a slap on the shoulder.

“Just to clear up, I-I'm not his lover…I’m not. I’m his friend,” Robin muttered into his mic. He looked like he didn’t belong on stage.

“Don’t be like that Roo. You know you want me.” Alex purred, swaying his hips as he went over to the drums. “And on the drums, is a gal I've learned to call my sister from another mister. OH YES! It’s the flaming heart of Pandora! DAWN NOX! The most fearsome drummer I’ve ever seen!”

“Get on with the show!” One of the crowd screamed.

James watched as Alex’s happy expression twitched. Ares flipped the crier off and began a low ‘dum dum dum’ on his bass.

“Well then, this next song is a little song about prison. And what happens to guys like us there.”

Robin began to pluck away.

“Oh, OOOOH, Well, alright! So I’ll tell ya what usually happens when we do a concert. Ya see back in ma home town, We’re big. You see what happens is that the girls, the girls are louder than the boys. But tonight, I barely see any girls here, so tonight my darlin’s, the boys are gonna be just as loud as the girls.”

Alex marched up and down the stage. The younger people of the pub had gathered on the dancefloor before them.

“So boys I wanna hear you!” He continued, rubbing his hand along the microphone. “Uh uh uh uh ONE, TWO,” The guitars grew louder. “THREE!”

“In the middle of a gunfight-”

“I've never seen anything so god damn sexual in all my life,” James said, his jaw hanging open as he watched the blond prance around. “Is this legal?”

“I hired him cos of this. I saw one of his shows on youtube. Boys got a way with crowds, could probably get them to strip for him if he wanted.”

“Uh-huh.” James could see that.

It felt like he was watching something he shouldn’t be. Like he was staring at the apple tree in the garden of Eden, only it was Alex telling him to try the fruit instead of lucifer.

Had he grown so out of touch with music that he had somehow become deaf to its undertones of sex and violence? It certainly felt like he had. He felt seventy, listening to pop songs his grandchildren played for him. Oh, this was wrong, he shouldn’t be enjoying it so much.

He made a note of how he was feeling. It would make for excellent story fodder.

“Why don’t you join them on the dancefloor?” Bartender suggested. “Some nice looking men down there too, Kid. You could get lucky.”

James shot her a look.

“I’m not gay, I'm just curious about Alex. I’ve never seen such finesse in rock music.”

“It’s not rock. It’s punk. Completely different, lots of anger and sex and rebellion. It’s like being covered in oil and set on fire, only to be dipped into something cold.” Bartender continued. “And you are blushin summet awful, even more so when your eyes catch sight of him.”

“That doesn’t make me gay. I'm knicking that description of punk though. Ooh, it could be in the opening just before the first chapter.” James grinned.

“I want credit and ninety per cent of the royalties.” Bartender cooed.

“Make it five, and you have a deal.”

“Pffh, that’s not even enough to cover the bill for the pity drinks I keep supplying you with.” Bartender pushed his untouched glass to his fingers. “Which you ain't drinking.”

James made a face and knocked back his whisky.

“Look you don’t have to pity me.” The music dropped away, and James quickly turned to see Alex leaning against the mic stand, his body was sweaty and heaving. James' teeth itched.

“Mhm, Mr old guy in a young guys body.”

James flipped her off.

She wasn’t wrong.

But he wasn’t going to tell her that.

He sipped his drink and slid from his stool.

“Right, I'm going down there,” He snatched his pen and paper off the counter. “I'm going to talk to him when he gets off stage. This could be it. I could be onto something.”

Bartender grinned.

“Oh honey, you’ll be on something. Trust me.”

James flipped her off again and marched himself into the swelling crowd.


End file.
